Sir Patches
by Summer Leigh Wind
Summary: After helping two little girls get their cat down from a tree, America is reminded of the cat he once owned. It also forces him to recall why he's never had another pet. One-Shot.


_**Sir Patches**_

* * *

Walking down the street, America noticed two little girls hovering below one of the trees lining the road. One of the girls was openly crying, while the other kept bouncing around with what he bet was nerves. Looking to the tree then, Alfred saw through the sparse autumn leaves a gray form.

Curiosity peaked, he came up behind the two and asked, "What's up?"

The crying one whirled around, and looked at him with large, wet brown eyes. "Our cat!" she wailed. "He's stuck in the tree!"

"We've been begging Patches to come down for a _whole_ hour," the other girl explained.

Eying the tree and where the cat was in it, America figured if he approached slowly and kept up a soothing murmuring, he could grab it and bring it down. The tree wasn't that much taller than him, after all.

Smiling brightly at the girls, he ruffled both their red locks and declared, "I can get Patches down!"

Tears drying up quickly, the one who had been crying looked at America with pure adoration. "Really? You can?"

"Yeah!" he replied. "Just watch, you'll see!"

And with that said, he left the two little girls and approached the tree carefully. "Hey Patches, hey kitty, there's a good fella..." he murmured as he inched his arms up toward the fat creature.

Yellow eyes watched him, and when America was only inches from grabbing him by his scruff, Patches tensed. However, before the cat could shoot out of the tree, America sprung on it and grabbed the animal around the middle.

Cat yowling, he brought it out of the tree and carefully placed it in the fidgety girl's arm with the warning, "Hold tight!"

"I will!" she promised as her arms came to wrap around her cat.

The little girl who had been crying before came close to her cat and waggled her finger in his face. "You were naughty!" she scolded. "You _know_ you aren't s'posed to go outside!"

Laughing at this, America made to move on when the other girl stopped him. "Thank you for getting him down, Mister," she said.

"It was no trouble," he replied as he reached down to scratch the cat's head instead. Staring at the fat feline, a very old memory came to mind. He'd had a cat named Patches once... "You know, I had a cat named Patches once. Though, it was actually _Sir_ Patches. I really liked stories about knights and stuff when I was a kid."

"Oh," the girl said. "That's neat. Do you still have him? Daddy says kitties live a long time."

America stiffened at this. "No," he answered hesitantly. "He...Well, he died a little earlier than expected. Anyway, I got to get going, girls. Make sure Patches doesn't get out of your house again, okay?"

The girls bobbed their heads agreeably and as he began to walk away, they shouted, "Thanks again, Mister! Bye!"

Turning to wave at them, America shoved his hands in his jean pockets and reflected on the pet cat he had all those years ago. The memories were mostly happy, but the last one made him shudder. It'd been over a two hundred years ago, but even now it affected him...

 _Seated by the oil lamp, America practiced his arithmetic in the dim yellow glow. Tongue stuck out in concentration as he attempted to add together three hundred and seventeen with six hundred and ninety-two, he didn't even hear his colonizer come into the room._

 _"Alfred," he said, causing the boy to jump._

 _Looking up, he gave a gleeful laugh. "Hey, you're back!"_

 _"I am," England replied warmly as he put a hand on top of America's head. "Have you been good? It looks like you've been doing the work I asked you to, at least."_

 _Standing up in his chair, America wrapped his arms around England's neck and sighed. "Really good," he answered. "I'm happy you're back, though. I put out dinner for Sir Patches, but he hasn't come to eat it. I'd go look for 'im, but it's_ dark _and there could be_ ghosts _, out there!"_

 _A strange light came to his colonizer's green eyes. "He hasn't come back to eat? How odd..."_

 _"Yeah, it is strange! Sir Patches loves to eat!"_

 _Distractedly, England lifted America from his chair and suggested, "Why don't you go put on your shoes and we'll go look together?"_

 _"Sure!" America agreed. Hurrying off, he got his shoes from where he left them by the door and fastened the buckles before hopping up and calling, "I'm ready!"_

 _"Just a moment!" England yelled back. Shifting from foot to foot, America craned his neck to try and peak into the other room when he began to feel his colonizer was taking too long. "England?" he shouted._

 _"Just a moment, lad!" he snapped._

 _Quieting, America bit his lip and held back anymore questions for the eternity that followed. When Arthur did reappear, he was holding a bag of what looked to be leftovers from dinner and a lantern. "I'm ready, America," he said._

 _Nodding, the boy pushed open the door and together, man and boy disappeared into the night._

-v-v-v-

 _"Patches! Patches!" Alfred called as they walked up the path to the closest neighbor's home. "Here, kitty! Here, Sir Patches!"_

 _Sighing, England came to place a hand on Alfred's head. "Lad, I know you're worried, but keep it down, won't you? The Pussetts have a baby and it wouldn't do if you woke it."_

 _America felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. "But, England!" he whined._

 _"I know, I know," his colonizer sighed, bringing him close for a one-armed hug. "Why don't we go take a peak by their barn? Sir Patches likes to chase mice and I know they have a good number of them this year."_

 _Sniffling a little, America nodded. "If you think so, England..."_

 _"Cheer up, poppet," his colonizer murmured. "We'll find Patches before you know it."_

 _A few minutes later, they were coming up on the barn and America went to tug on England's arm. "There it is! Do you think Patches might have gotten stuck in the Pussetts's barn? That'd be awful for him! He likes sleeping with me at night!" America babbled worriedly._

 _"You let that dirty beast sleep with you!" England exclaimed in disgust. "America-!"_

 _Not paying the man much mind as he lets go of his colonizer's sleeve, the boy began to run toward the barn. "Only sometimes!" he fibbed. As he got closer, America felt something slick beneath his shoe before he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. "Oh!' America yelped._

 _"Lad!" England yelled. "Stay where you are, I'll get to you," he told the boy as he hurried over, the yellow light of his lamp bouncing and casting odd shadows on his form and the area around him. Laying still, Alfred ignored the pangs he was getting from his rear end and started to feel around for what it could have been that was so slippery. His fingers found something that was both slimy and squishy and as he tried to puzzle it out, his colonizer came up to his side and the lantern he held shed the necessary light for Alfred to know what it was he was holding._

 _What he saw caused him to shriek at such a pitch, that the Pussetts's, Baker's and Rover's dogs all began to howl._

 _After that night, America would never want another cat._

Shaking the memory away, America remembered how after finding his cat torn to pieces, England had taken off his coat to cover it. The gesture had been well intentioned, but too late. Since that night, Sir Patches's massacred corpse had been seared into his memory. A little while later, England had tried to give him a new cat, but he'd staunchly refused to name it, touch it or look at it. After that, England had given it to the Rovers, who'd lived over the hill behind them. England had told him they were quite happy with the cat and he could have been too, if he'd treated it nicely.

America had always clammed up when his ex-colonizer had said stuff like that. At the time, he hadn't known how to express how deeply horrifying it'd been to learn that some thing he'd loved could be destroyed like that. To know that there was such a cruelness in the world that at any moment, what he called his and adored could be ripped away from him and turned into nothing more than shredded flesh.

It'd been too much for him and to this day, Sir Patches torn up corpse still haunted him, still reminded him that it could happen again.

And that was why Alfred had vowed to never own another pet.

* * *

 **This was written for _Rose's angst challenge!_ on The Helpful Hetalia Corner forum. My prompts were America and Pets, ergo, this piece.**

 **I think it borders a little on horror too, but there's some angst in this as well, wouldn't you say?**

 **Thank you for reading and please review!**


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